Into the Nothing
by Moonstruck Kitten
Summary: After the war, Seifer is living a half-life with damaged memories and no direction, but being called back to Garden to account for his crimes changes everything. Getting there is half the battle when his biggest weakness is holding his hand and lives are on the line, but Seifer has never backed away from a challenge and he's not about to start.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Obviously the characters don't belong to me. Check out my bio for the premise of this story. The lyrics belong the band they are credited to and are used thematically only (this is not a song-fic). Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

I've been cursed  
I've been crossed  
I've been beaten by the ones  
That get me off

I've been cut  
I've been opened up  
I've been shattered by the ones  
I thought I loved

-Chalk Outline, Three Days Grace

 _A flash of golden hair and warm lips, a perfect moment, a kiss stolen on impulse, a distraction that turns into something more… but the need to run, to get there in time is overwhelming. He has to save her, the one thing in his life he's managed not to crush. He has to protect her and he knows that to do that he must hurt the one before him. He looks into surprised eyes, the color of the sky on an endless summer day and for just a moment he hates himself. But the need drives him on and he can't stop to think, can't wait. The sound of her fall sears him even as he rushes on to meet his destiny._

* * *

 _Piercing amber eyes, cruel and twisted, a mockery of what they once were, what they should be, but he's drawn in, pulled by the hint of memory and the splash of power he can taste in the air. He wants it, wants it so badly… but he is weak, he is afraid. He's done what the Ice Queen has always warned him of, he's rushed in and bitten off more than he can chew. But his Mistress is there now, this vision of darkness, and although he hates what she says to him, how she makes him feel, she is offering him salvation and he doesn't know how to refuse. There is nothing left for him in the world but the madness in her gaze._

* * *

 _The crowd cheers, screaming their adoration into the star-lit sky and he basks in the reflection of her glory. The flames of her power rise behind them; beacons signaling the start of her reign. The parade is endless, the celebration in full swing. His Mistress has warned him that her enemies will try and stop her this night and so he stands tall and proud like the knight he's become; ready to give his life for her._

 _Silver flashes, pain blooms, he falls. His enemy stands triumphant as his Mistress sneers at him, telling him he is a fool. Her words cut deeper than the blade and his mind seeks the comfort of the dark. Death welcomes him and in her presence he knows, he sees everything he was, everything he is, and everything he is to become._

 _Light swallows him but he doesn't want to leave this place, not yet. He can't hear his Mistress' voice, within his head or without, and it is both a blessing and a curse. She has forsaken him. His eyes open as leather tipped fingers hover timidly over his cheek. Blue eyes sear into his mind, into his heart, but he can't remember why they hurt him so, until in a flash she is there._ _ **"Seifer, DO NOT hurt your partner while training." "Seifer grow up!" "Seifer, follow directions!" "Good luck, Seifer."**_ _As he presses her warmth into his cheek, he thinks about second chances and wonders if she was always meant to be his. As usual, her only worry is the other, the light to his dark, the dark to his light. Hurt sweeps in, followed by a drowning clarity, and he thinks he'd rather die than go back into the shadows of his rival's perfection. But maybe if he brings a gift, his Mistress will raise him up, back into the light where he can prove that he is everything that the other is and more. She doesn't even see the blow coming. His Mistress' voice returns but it is a cold comfort against the heat of the Ice Queen's fingers still burning into his skin._

* * *

 _The clash of swords. A flash of red against blue. The cries of the fallen. The fight of the behemoths rages on but he has returned to his Mistress' side. He will stand by her always, it is his destiny. The others charge in, the enemies, the loathsome SeeD, and he steps forward to meet them head on. He doesn't recognize any of them through the haze of battle and his Mistress' touch but she coaches his words, twisting his memories to find the weaknesses she seeks. He tries to resist the intrusion, he is happy to forget, but he knows he can't stand against her for long. The fight is brief, he falls heavily, a twisted lump of blood and pain. His Mistress screams at him in his head, outside it; he is useless to her; but still he drags himself down, down, down, to where she makes her final stand. He defends her to his last breath. She is all he has, all he knows, all he will ever be. When Death claims him he drowns, and when his Mistress brings him back wearing the body of his first brush with innocent love, he is lost._

* * *

 _One blue eye, silvered under white hair, stares defiantly at him and it takes all he is to remember who this girl, this tiny woman who stands between him and his Mistress' command, is. The big man behind her is saying something but he barely hears the words under the torrent of his Mistress'._ _ **"Let them go,"**_ _she orders._ _ **"Useless worms."**_ _And suddenly he knows… he knows who they are, what they want. They are leaving him, surrendering him to fate's design. He was always meant to be alone. The Posse will never be again. The fight with his shadow, with the other, is quick and painful. He is struck down by a guardian unbound by the rules of the bond._

 _It leaves him weak, but his Mistress spurns him on, there is still time to salvage the plans. He's interrupted in his quest by another and even as his Mistress tugs at him he can't ignore those eyes, eyes as blue as the sky and as deep as the sea. They haunt him, torturing him in the night. They are defiant now and the words she hurls at him are cruel and cutting, tearing him apart._ _ **"Kill her,"**_ _his Mistress whispers._ _ **"If she scars you so, destroy her."**_ _The words have a command to them and before he can think he is acting. Her skin feels like silk under his hand and a sick pleasure fills him at the sight of her stark terror, but her defiance remains._

 _A blade presses against his throat and the girl his Mistress needs stands before him. A trickle of blood slides over his skin as she demands the others_ _'_ _release but he does not notice, does not know anything more than his Mistress' voice._ _ **"Do it,"**_ _his Mistress commands._ _ **"Forget her, bring me the girl."**_ _And just as she's commanded he's already forgotten the one in his hand, tossing her away. The girl glares at him and rushes to the fallen one's side, stupidly turning her back. He captures her with ease, ignoring her screams as he tugs them both onward toward their end._

* * *

" _Welcome, my son," the dark woman says and he is home. The waves beat timelessly against the golden shores and his heart keeps rhythm as he drowns in bottomless amber pools and remembers… For a moment, clarity graces him and the flashes of memory sharpen. The haze of his Mistress' power lifts from his eyes and it is no longer some_ _ **other**_ _whose actions play out as if up on a screen, it is_ _ **him**_ _. Him, only him._

 _He falls into the sand, screaming, thrashing; his pain as endless as the sea. But then she is there, his Mistress—but not his Mistress—and her lilting voice rises above him, fills him until the jagged pieces of him lie bare._

 _He shatters under the weight of his actions. His soul refuses to hold together any longer and cracks apart like brittle china. Death rushes for him on ragged wings and he smiles in welcome, knowing that if he reaches out and takes that boney hand, all of his pain, all of his sorrow will simply fade away._

 _But there are two of them now, his Mistress-but-not-his-Mistress, and the woman he had once called Matron, and they are speaking in tandem of hope and dreams and holding onto destiny. Power surrounds him and he fights against it instinctively but it isn't the harsh, cold fires of his Mistress' spells, or the warm burn of the guardian's energy… This magic is cool, soothing like a mother's touch and he leans into it as the ragged edges of his soul are worn down and then puzzled together piece by bitter piece and he is left whole in a way he's never dreamed of. The memories of the sorceress' knight shift and slide into the shadows of his mind and the women with the amber eyes merge until only one kneels in the sand calling his name like a prayer. "Seifer. Live Seifer, live."_

* * *

His body jolted and all at once he was awake. Shooting up from the lumpy straw mattress, clenching at his chest, he swore heavily, wiping away the beads of cold sweat that dripped down the back of his neck. That dream again… It haunted him in the night, in the dark, when the shadows loomed and the memories tugged at his heart. It was always the same; the same flow of moments where clarity beat its broken wings, trying to take him up past the surface of _her_ madness. He supposed that there were worse dreams to be had with all he'd done and all he'd seen, but this one always hit him the hardest, because it was steeped in memory. Of all the moments he dreamed, the last was always the worst because it was the only one that still contained an echo of pain.

Displaced in the flows of decompressing time, he'd been unable to find his way out of the nightmare his sorceress had dreamed up. He'd been lost, but Edea had called him, and Matron had found him, just as the last of his Mistress' magic had faded, just as he'd fully realized what he'd done, what he'd become and the weight of it tore him apart. He'd felt death, recognized it, welcomed it, but the Edea of the past and the Edea of the present had refused to let him die. Through the magic of their souls and their hearts, they picked up his unwilling body, his ravaged soul, and put him back together piece by painful piece.

When he had been whole again the memories of his time as the sorceress' knight had faded back into obscurity. The knowledge was still there, lurking like a malignant tumor—everything he had done he could recall in a heartbeat—but the feelings that should have been so firmly rooted in those memories were as elusive as the wind.

Edea had healed him, making him more whole than he'd ever been before, but in doing so she'd finished what the Sorceress started, dooming him to living a lie. What he'd done during his time as the Sorceress' pet should have made him feel guilt, but there was none and so he felt guilty. The lives lost—comrades, students, soldiers—should have made him feel sorrow, but there were no tears, and so he was remorseful. The things the sorceress made him do, the things he'd lost, the things he could never get back again should have made him angry, but there was no heat, and so he was enraged. But as always, because his emotions were, at best, second hand, they faded back into the ambivalence he had been cursed to live with. And that ambivalence, he knew, had been part of the reason Fujin and Raijin had finally abandoned him. Why he'd let them go, so that he woke now alone in the little ramshackle shack on the beach a few miles outside of Timber's city limits. He pulled a shaking hand through his short blond hair, and sighed.

For all that he had once wished to be alone, now that his isolation was complete, he couldn't stand it. Still, he couldn't bring himself to blame his Posse. After all, they had stuck around for longer than he expected after searching him out.

Whole and healed, when time had finally righted itself he had found himself not on the shores of Centra, but in Balamb. Fujin and Raijin were only a few feet away clinging to each other and looking toward him like they were waiting for him. For a moment, for one shining day, everything had seemed like it was going to be all right. Fujin and Raijin had been up to their old antics, just trying to make him smile, and he had taken up fishing, just because he could. It had been harder than it looked and he'd grown frustrated after Raijin had outdone him, but he had laughed as Fujin pushed Raijin into the sea in revenge. Balamb Garden had floated peacefully over their heads, a sign that everything was as it should be. Then, that night, he had had the first of his nightmares and he knew that nothing would ever be right again.

He'd done too much, done too little… He was an outcast, a pariah, someone who was feared and reviled throughout the world. He'd once longed to make his mark, but even in his darkest dreams, the one he'd made wasn't the one he wanted. While he moped about not feeling anything, Rajin and Fujin had real scars left from what they had done, real pain.

They had followed him to Timber, and tried, for a time, to convince him that he hadn't been all that bad, that he wasn't universally hated, but the things they said fell like empty platitudes on deaf ears and eventually they had given up. It had taken them three whole months to realize that the Posse would never be what it was, and a little longer to decide to go back to Garden and the lives they'd left behind.

He'd let them go, even convinced them that he would be fine without them, because he knew he owed them that much. No matter how he appreciated and depended on their company, he couldn't make them stay just for him.

It had been over a month since they'd waved goodbye and he'd just finally gotten used to the silence. Which is why he realized suddenly it was _too_ silent. And then there was a noise. Not loud, just a whisper of footsteps on sand, the brush of cloth against the reeds. Someone was outside.

He wondered who could be out stumbling around the shore at this time of night and his fear was quick to conjure assassins, townspeople thirsting for the blood of the fallen knight, or SeeDs sent to deliver judgment for Trabia, for Balamb, for all the fucked-up things he'd been involved with, whether he'd known about them or not.

As unlikely as those scenarios were—he'd been too damn careful to hide who he was and where he was staying—the images wouldn't leave. Part of him would welcome any of them, for in his heart he felt it was no less than what he deserved. And that was what scared him the most. He had never been one to surrender. His death would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. It wouldn't bring back those who were lost, and it wouldn't absolve him of his crimes.

Clutching Hyperion, he moved silently to stand beside the slatted wooden door as whatever it was moved closer. Raijin would have called him paranoid, he knew, jumping at shadows—or more likely fiends looking for a midnight snack—but if he'd learned one thing it was that there is no such thing as too much paranoia. Thinking of Raijin made him wonder briefly if his Posse had come back, but the thought, he knew, was just as ridiculous as his previous ones. Whatever loyalty they still had for him, it wouldn't be enough to bring them back, not when they could be at home.

The footsteps paused and he held his breath. It was now or never. Clenching Hyperion tightly he raised the blade and threw open the door. Like being punched in the gut, all of the air left his lungs at once, but the pain was distant, contained only in his mind.

"Quisty?" he breathed, not quite believing his eyes.

It was her, but nowhere near the her he remembered so vividly in his dreams. Her hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders like a golden wave, and thick black square-rimmed glasses obstructed most of her clear blue eyes. A knee-length leather duster covered most of her body with only a sliver of skin showing between it and her black, chunky high heeled boots.

He blinked twice, sure he was still dreaming, but knowing it was too surreal not to be reality. She was perhaps the last person he ever expected to see again, but even though it was _her,_ seeing someone familiar was more welcome than he would ever admit, especially since he could guess her purpose. She was one of his worst fears come to life.

He'd known of the possibility ever since he'd awakened, ever since he'd found out what he'd become. _Lapdog. Murderer. Puppet._ Labels screamed at him in the wake of blood, and above it all a voice commanding him to ' _kill the SeeDs…kill them all…_ ' It had only been a matter of time. He had known they would come, his former comrades, and his death would follow.

Still, in all the scenarios his nightmares could conjure he had never imagined that Quistis Trepe would be the one to deliver his final salvation. She had always been the one to fight for him. The only one to ever notice anything in him worth fighting for. No matter how far their relationship deteriorated, how much he baited her, she had continued to fight for him, for his right to take the SeeD exam for the fifth time, for his right to lead a team, for his right to stay in Garden. It'd been somewhat unnecessary, as he'd had an advantage keeping him in Garden that she knew nothing about, but it had touched him.

He'd hated her for it then, because she'd made him feel—made him think, made him want something he knew he could never have. He'd sought out her weaknesses and used them to torment her; going out of his way to goad her, because it was the only way he could think of to drive her away. None of it had worked, though, because when push came to shove, as much as he'd thought he'd hated her, and as much as he hated himself, he hadn't been able to walk away and leave the mystery of her untouched. The more he'd discovered, the more he'd been unable to resist trying to get under her skin, to find out just what was lying there under all that ice.

It hadn't been until it was too late that he'd realized why he'd wanted to know.

The silence between them thickened and then she knocked his still hovering blade away with a flick of her wrist and slid around him to enter the room. She studied him with cool eyes as he shrugged and shut the door behind him, leaning on it and studying her as well. She looked different, even beyond her new style choices. She seemed harder, angrier, and more powerful. There was a darkness hovering in her eyes that he'd never seen before.

He'd once wanted to be the one to make her feel pain, to bring her to her knees, to make her hate him, but now that he could see her, the way she'd changed; the possibility that he had played a part in the cause was a bitter pill to swallow.

He looked away from her, and for the first time since he'd come back to himself he found he didn't want to know what feelings his memories contained, didn't want to know if he'd enjoyed striking her down. Didn't want to think about the way her eyes had looked when he'd kissed her, the way they'd hollowed—like they were now—when he'd pushed her. Didn't want to think of any of it.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Her eyes narrowed and she sighed, but then she gave him that look, her patented 'I can't believe you, Seifer,' look, and he wondered if maybe he'd been seeing things, maybe she wasn't so different after all.

"Should I be?"

He shrugged, it was still much more likely that she'd come to kill him than her seeking him out for any other reason.

"I don't know. I figured maybe the Galbadians would pay for my head, or possibly the Estharians. I did wreck their city. And that was if Squall didn't want the pleasure himself, for Trabia, or for any of the other things I put you all through. I never expected that you'd be the one to take the contract, but I suppose I should just be grateful that…" he let his words trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

"Grateful that what?" she asked.

 _That you came for me_ , he thought, but mumbled, "Nothin', it doesn't matter."

The thought itself was stupid and weak, he didn't need anyone to come for him, and he didn't need anyone to care about him, not his Posse, and certainly not his bleeding-heart ex-instructor.

Then she said, "I guess it doesn't, as I'm not here to kill you." And no matter how frosty her voice was, he couldn't help but grin. She held up her hand. "I wouldn't celebrate just yet. The thought _has_ crossed my mind. It would be so much simpler than what I am actually here for."

 _Always a catch_ , he thought, hiding his surprise with a sneer. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

"A Summit has been called. In two weeks you are to testify in front of the world about the crimes committed during the Ultimecia Wars."

"Shit." He'd never expected something like that, but now that he thought about it, he should have. He should count himself lucky it was a summit and not a 'trial' in a Galbadian court.

She smiled tightly. "You didn't think you'd get to go free after all the things you did, did you?"

He closed his eyes, and the weight of the world seemed to settle back on his shoulders.

"No," he admitted truthfully.

He hadn't expected to be free. Being put on trial, his shame put on display, was one of his worst fears, a reoccurring nightmare.

 _He's on the spired float, his sword over his shoulder, the fires of her magic burning in the braziers behind him, the crowd screaming their worship, and then suddenly he's alone on the platform, on his knees, chained while the crowd jeers, calling for his blood._

"So you're here to escort the sacrifice to the bloody altar. Let the world watch as I burn. Never thought you'd stoop so low, Instructor."

She laughed but it was full of bitterness. "Oh, grow up and stop being so pathetic."

His eyes snapped up furiously to hers but she plowed ahead relentlessly, pacing as she did. "Actions have consequences, although you never could figure that out, and your actions deserve more than you're going to get." She stopped, turning on her heel to face him and sighed heavily. "The Summit is a sham; no one has clean hands in this debacle, so no one can afford to point fingers. Don't worry—" she sneered, crossing her arms underneath her chest, "—your pride might even come out intact."

The old urge—the need to hurt her twice as much as she had him—had him retorting before he could think. "Like you know so much about actions and consequences, let alone pride. Although we both know you know tons about being pathetic."

He knew he struck true when she flinched but she didn't give him the satisfaction of the fight he was looking for, choosing instead to just study him with those icy eyes. Which, as usual, just pissed him off more.

"And once again, you prove me right. Trying so hard to be the perfect ice bitch, so afraid of letting your feelings show, that almost everyone is sure you don't have any."

Unexpected, unchecked, she practically flew at him and he was left dumb. Somewhere in his mind the pain registered as his lip split under her fist and his head snapped back. Her other fist found his solar plexus and he couldn't make a sound. Doubled over, trying desperately to pull in air, he wasn't sure how he managed to block the knee she was aiming for his groin, only that it hurt, everything hurt.

Damn, she knew how to hit. Wondering who the hell had taught her, he grinning lopsidedly and tried to hide his wince as his lip split further. "Wow" he said, wheezing heavily, "who'd have ever thought that under all that ice is a she-devil waiting to be unleashed."

She shrieked, and charged. Before he could think, she had used her momentum to sweep his feet from under him. All of the air was knocked from his lungs as his back slammed into the ground. She was on him before he could blink, her nails biting sharply into his shoulders while her knees dug painfully into his thighs.

He grinned up at her, counting himself lucky that she hadn't chosen to dig her knees somewhere else. She looked angrier for a moment but then her head whipped towards the door and the sounds of shifting footsteps in the sand and her hand flew to her ear.

"False alarm," she bit out, glaring at him as if daring him to say a word. He might have if he'd had the air, but with her sitting on his bruised solar plexus all he could do was pant shallowly trying to catch his breath. "Just a… slight altercation."

She listened to something and a slight smile crossed her lips. "I'll let you know," she said before tapping her ear again and turning her attention back to him.

"I've wanted to wipe that awful smirk off of your face for years, but I'll apologize anyway because I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. Still, I would suggest that you remember that I am no longer your instructor and therefore no longer bound to take your shit."

He nodded slightly, giving her the point mostly because he wasn't sure what to think. Reigning in his own temper was taking the lion's share of his attention, and the way her jacket had fallen open revealing just how little material she was actually wearing was taking the rest.

Her barely covered breasts were heaving, peeking through her wide collar, and her legs were bare all the way to her thighs, where the world's smallest skirt just barely kept him from seeing if she was wearing anything under it. Taking it all in, his mind seemed to short out for a moment.

There was an awkward silence before his shock overcame both anger and sense. "Damn," he breathed finally, tearing his eyes away to meet hers. "What are you wearing?"

She scowled, looking down at herself, and then scrambled to her feet, straightening the coat at the same time and hiding away all that temptation.

"None of your business," she stated coldly.

She was mighty defensive, he mused, rising slowly, and it made him wonder just what else was under all that leather. A wild thought struck him and he laughed.

"What the hell did they send you to do? Seduce me back?"

A blush bloomed on her cheeks, and the glare she sent him was two levels past deadly, intriguing him further.

Cid wouldn't do that, would he? And it was even less like Squall—he was probably the only one in Quistis' class who hadn't noticed she was a woman. Even he'd had a crazy fantasy or twelve about "detention" with her and he'd thought he hated her—of course they had mostly been ones that ended with her being the one humiliated, but still, fantasies nonetheless.

"No," she snapped finally. "This certainly wasn't for you."

"Aw, I'm crushed," he whined petulantly even as his mind sped along, wondering if he played his cards right, he could at least enjoy her effort. "Do I at least get a look at it before you lead me off to my doom? It only seems fair."

She shook her head, and straightened her glasses, her eyes snapping at him from behind the rims. "Not even if you really were going to your death."

He laughed sardonically. "Now I know I'm not going to die. You wouldn't be able to resist a man's last request."

She pursed her lips. "You'd be surprised."

His eyes widened slightly before he schooled his face back into a sneering grin. "I don't believe that. The only thing that surprises me is that little number you're wearing. But they say seeing is believing, so what if I make it part of the agreement? What if I swear that I'll go with you, no funny business, no arguments, if you give me a look at what's under that jacket?"

She frowned, crossing her arms again. "Nice try. Here's my counter. You'll go with me, no _funny business_ , no arguments, because if you don't the two SeeDs waiting outside will be happy to tie your ass up and drag you back kicking and screaming."

"I'd like to see them try," he sneered.

She cocked her head. "I just took you down in thirty seconds flat, without my weapon or magic. Don't tempt me to do it again, I'm really not in the mood for a pissing contest, but if you insist…"

She let the words hang and Seifer clenched his hands and bit his tongue wanting to start and end that "pissing contest" as she'd phrased it by wringing her neck. Then, unbidden, a picture of him actually doing so rose to the surface. Her terrified face stared back at him, her blue eyes red-rimmed and wide as her peaches and cream skin went white and then blue, yet he felt nothing. No pain, no pleasure, no anger, no horror as he watched the life fade slowly from her fear-glazed eyes. Nothing. He wrenched himself from the memory and at once felt both horrified and sick, and so glad to feel anything beside that blankness of his past that he could have wept. Praying that she hadn't noticed his lapse he looked to Quistis and found that she wasn't really looking at him but at something beyond him.

And her hands were trembling.

Sighing, he ran an agitated hand through his hair as guilt flashed in and out of his system in waves. Futilely he tried to both hold onto the feeling and push it away, because he both didn't want to feel like he owed her anything and knew that he owed her everything even if he couldn't quite hold onto the reason. It was an odd sort of misery.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, mostly just to break the unbearable silence.

Her eyes met his and she swallowed, then smiled slightly. "I don't know that I've ever heard those words cross your lips, it must be snowing in hell… was that a pig flying over there?"

He crossed his arms. "Ha ha."

"Mostly I'm not sure what you're apologizing about. Care to enlighten me?"

He didn't and with her staring at him, he wasn't going to. "Just forget about it. Look, I'd already decided I would go with before you started your little melodramatic "pissing contest" I'd rather not look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, so truce?"

The lines of her scowl softened just a fraction as she said, "Truce. Tentatively anyway. There will be some rules."

He grit his teeth. "Such as?"

"No funny business, as you said earlier, and no arguments. I'm here to escort you back to Garden quickly and quietly by the day of the trial and I will do my job," her eyes flashed in warning, "but having your cooperation would be helpful," she acknowledged, "and make things easier on everyone. If you agree to the parameters we're to treat this as a team escort exercise. I will lead and you will follow my lead; if not, well… you know the drill."

He did. Depending on the lackeys she'd brought he might be able to get away, but if the trial was the sham she'd claimed it to be earlier what was the point in riling up SeeD further? And if it wasn't a sham then turning himself in might account for something, even if it was only in the old man's eyes. But either way he went, dealing with Quistis was going to be a problem.

"I'll go, and without argument, but what about your _friends_ outside, couldn't they take me?"

She sighed, then shook her head. "They aren't even supposed to be here in the first place," she crossed her arms, "Squall was … well…"

Hearing Squall's name dredged up a lot of memories Seifer was more than happy to forget and he scowled heavily, wondering what Squall had to do with it.

Quistis turned back to him, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "I should tell you—" she shook her head, obviously having some inner debate, before she started again, "You should know why I'm the one here to retrieve you."

He stared at her a little dumbly. He'd figured the Summit was reason enough. It wasn't a stretch to think that the world leaders had left it up to SeeD to bring him in. They were the best and beyond her prior status and connection to him as his Instructor, he figured she'd been sent because she was one of their brightest.

"It's not that the Summit isn't important," she began, "because it is—we all believe it will give the world the closure it needs. But that isn't the real reason I'm here."

She looked at him, examining his eyes.

"Squall sent me—" she said finally, "—because he felt I would be better received than most. Some bullshit about me being your favorite."

He was taken aback both by the fact that Quistis knew such language and that Squall had paid attention enough to know something Quistis herself didn't believe. Then dumbfounded, he wondered why the hell _Squall_ had been the one to send her.

It was not what he'd expected.

"I thought—I still think—he's an idiot," she murmured, and he couldn't help but grin even through his confusion, at her calling her once-favorite student an idiot, "but he wants you back. Not just for the trial, but for good."

At first he thought he was hearing things. Then he was sure of it. But the words were there echoing around in his skull like a shout off a canyon wall. "He wants me back?" he whispered.

Quistis nodded, but there was a censure in her eyes that he didn't quite understand. "He asked all of us if we would support him in your return. Beyond appeasing his newfound sense of sentimentality—Rinoa's doing, of course—it would both right a wrong that he feels was done to you, by proving that Garden bears you no ill will for your part in the war and would provide SeeD with a valuable asset."

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, too many words flowing through his mind to articulate any of them.

Her eyes narrowed on his. "I couldn't deny his request, not without telling him things that happened during the war that I don't particularly want to share."

He knew what she was talking about, just as he knew why she probably wouldn't want to share them.

Even reliving the moments as flashes in his nightmares didn't disguise what she had suffered under his hands. He'd betrayed her personally no less than three times. The first on the train to Timber before his life had gone to shit, where he had distracted her with a kiss, a kiss she had returned, against all expectation, before he'd shoved her hard enough he'd heard something crack as she hit the wall.

She would feel responsible, he'd known it then, even as he knew it now, because she hadn't stopped his mad flight to his destiny. Moreover she would consider his reign of terror her fault, because when he had lay dying in the gutter of Deling City, disposed after failing to kill the SeeD for his Mistress, she had found him and she had saved him. She had brought him back to life. And he had betrayed her, again and again, culminating in the bowels of Lunatic Pandora where he had almost killed her.

"However, because of those things I want to make myself clear. We have all agreed to do our best to help your return be as smooth as possible, but that does not mean that I want to be here. Or that I believe the story that you were under some sort of mind-control."

He opened his mouth again, to defend himself, to argue, to say anything but she held up her hand, stopping him before he began.

"I'm here, giving you this chance because Edea asked me to and Squall insisted, but, just so we're clear: if I, for one second, believe that you are the same fuck-up that betrayed us, I will be happy to bury your ass somewhere they will never find you and give Squall a plausible sob story instead."

He'd known she could be scary, had seen her take down beasts and men twice her size without blinking, but he'd never personally felt frightened by her. It chaffed against everything he was not to lash out because of that fear, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would follow through with her threat if he did.

He cleared his throat and said the only thing he could. "We're clear."

"Good," her frown lessened a little, and her eyes went distant like she was listening to something and then she reached up and touched her ear. "I'm fine, I'll be out in a minute to debrief you," she said and then touched her ear again, this time removing the small com-link ear piece entirely and shoving it into her coat pocket.

"As I was saying before that little side-trip. My friends aren't supposed to be here. Squall was sure you'd cooperate and they were—and are—on their own mission. However, they were free tonight and when I found out you were actually still here, they decided to accompany me. Since you've decided to do this the nice way, they will go back to their own mission and leave me to mine."

Seifer sighed. "I guess I'm all yours then. When'd you say we were due at this trial?"

"Two weeks."

His eyes widened. "They didn't have much stock in your success, did they?"

Her eyes snapped but she shrugged. "Like I said, we thought you wouldn't still be here. Fujin and Raijin were under the impression you were going to move on after they left. If we'd known you were still here I certainly wouldn't be here now, and definitely not in this ridiculous get-up."

She sneered down at her clothes, and he wondered again what she _was_ doing in her new "get-up" but knew better than to ask.

"You said you were supposed to bring me on the day of the trial; if we aren't expected back for two weeks, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" she echoed warily.

"Mission parameters?"

"I'm to escort you back to Balamb Garden, which is currently docked in Esthar, by 1400 hours on Friday the 23rd of June."

"Well, if that's all, then there's no reason we can't take a detour or two along the way… I—"

"No," she snapped coldly, "no detours, no side trips. All I signed up for was to get you back to Garden. You already agreed to follow along without a fight. They'll just have to find someplace to put until the trial date."

He was already regretting that agreement, he thought, as he scowled down at her. If she continued along the high-and-mighty route he doubted he'd be able to keep it. Then he grinned again as a thought hit him. Apparently she hadn't thought very far ahead.

"Unless you have a car, which I didn't hear, we can't leave now, it's the middle of the night for Timber. There aren't any trains running and the boats won't be back till morning."

Her scowl made his smile widen _Got you there_.

She crossed her arms, and closed her eyes, as a heavy sigh spilled from her lips. "I know," she said finally, "I told you I didn't really expect to find you and it's a short walk from Timber to here."

"Look, it might be a bit rustic, but this place is sound, there's even an attached latrine. We can stay here for the night and head out in the morning."

It was more than he'd wanted to offer, but in that moment she looked so weary and just lost enough to have his more protective side rearing its ugly head, and his half-formed plans of making the ensuing trip as hard on her as possible seemed to fly off of their own accord.

He'd gone soft, he decided, as she examined their surroundings. Edea had ruined what edge he used to have.

"If we stay here, you're sleeping on the floor. If you make me run after you I'll make you regret it to your dying day, clear?"

"Crystal," he agreed irritably, now really regretting saying anything.

He should have made her pay for a hotel, with beds.

She grimaced at the lumpy straw mattress that had seen its heyday twenty years prior. He'd covered it with a sheet he'd stolen off some clothes line on the outskirts of Timber, but its moth-eaten holes showed clearly through the thin white cotton. He'd been grateful enough to find a free bed that he hadn't minded, had just been glad it had held together, but he imagined she found it lacking.

"I'll go tell the others they can go then. We'll leave first thing in the morning so I suggest you start making your bed."

He bit back a sarcastic retort and nodded sharply, sighing when she disappeared through the front door.

Fifteen minutes and a trip to the outhouse later, he showed her where she could put her bag and then watched her fall into the bed with the air of someone who hadn't slept in ages. He lay on his sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling, trying to tune out her quiet breathing as she fought to stay awake, shifting every few minutes to look at him—probably making sure he was still there, or possibly watching for an attack.

As he waited for sleep to come he replayed her words over and over in his mind, not quite believing that he'd heard everything she'd said. Especially the part about Squall. It just seemed too good to be true. But if Squall wanted him back, was willing to send someone just to retrieve him, maybe he would be, _had been_ forgiven, by some. Edea had whispered to him, promised him forgiveness as she'd pulled him back together that day on the beach, but he'd believed her then as he believed this now.

He looked over at Quistis, studying the gentle rise and fall of her chest, still not quite believing that she was there, that this was reality. His lip stung from where she'd hit it and he was sure to have a bruise on his abdomen in the morning, but even with those reminders the whole night seemed so surreal that he was half-sure she would disappear if he closed his eyes.

He almost wished it.

But he wanted that promise of forgiveness more—with all of his patched up heart. To make up for what he'd done, even knowing he could never actually succeed, and he would try anything. Even kowtowing to the new Quistis.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Thank you guys so much: those who read and those who reviewed, but especially those who put this story on alert. I can't describe in words how much that means to me. Thanks, your responses have made me think about continuing and completing this. It will be slow going as I'm an undergrad in my last year, but it will happen.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything but my ideas—and someone else thought of Seifer and the Final Fantasy 8 gang first.

Chapter Two

Search for the answers I knew all along

I lost myself, we all fall down

Never the wiser of what I've become

Alone I stand, a broken man

-Without You, Breaking Benjamin

The warm morning sun streamed through the shuttered window, bathing the room with glittering particles of light as Seifer watched Quistis stir on the lumpy straw mattress. He'd been ramping back and forth between animal lust and very human hatred for hours. Driven insane by the tops of her breasts peeking through her coat, the leather duster that had ridden up in the night to twist around her thighs, and the words she'd spoken the night before—both the cruel and the kind—he'd thought seriously about how he was going to handle her, and himself.

To avoid direct temptation, he'd covered her with his coat hours before, and already gone for a rather chilling, but ultimately useless, swim, because nothing was going to remove the image of her from where it was burned into his retinas.

That he'd always wanted her in some form or another was just his bitch to bear. He knew that, even as he hated it with every fiber of his being. That he admired her was just the stupidity that those like Xu had always assumed of him. That he hadn't been able to let her go had been his one true failing before fate decided to screw him; he'd baited and hurt her purposefully because he'd needed her to pay attention to him in some form.

That that need for her still raged was an inevitability that he hadn't quite prepared for. With her on unknowing display in front of him, he'd hadn't been able to focus on anything but her, and he hated himself for it now more than ever. She was angry, rightfully so really, and he couldn't afford to be thinking with any other brain than the one in his head. And he definitely shouldn't be thinking with his fucking heart.

Quistis stirred again, snapping him out of his thoughts and as she sat up, he hastily beat a path to the bathroom before he could get another eyeful.

Staring into the broken glass of the old mirror, he told himself he wasn't running away, he was just making a tactical retreat. After all she was, to all appearances, still very unhappy with him and with her mission in general, which he'd no doubt compounded by his behavior the night before.

As he heard her shift and move out of the bed, he sighed, and ran a hand over his face. Then he heard her cross to the cupboard where he kept his things and decided he'd hid long enough.

"Good morning," he said from the 'bathroom's' door. She turned to face him and he stopped in the middle of his stride and stared. Her jacket had fallen all the way open, revealing everything of what had been hidden. Taking it all in, his mind seemed to short out for a moment, focused only on how all of that creamy skin—revealed by a sleeveless purple corseted bustier that ended at her flared hips, and what looked more like a leather bandage than a skirt—would feel under his hands.

Her eyes followed his and she bit her lip.

"You look…" he paused, searching for a word that wouldn't have her biting his head off now that he'd opened his fool mouth.

"I look like a tramp," she finished for him, buttoning the oversized buttons of her leather dustier as fast as she could.

He frowned, and shook his head. He had been thinking 'fuckable' but he went with something less crude. "I was going to say "beautiful.""

She glared at him coldly, pushing her glasses back onto her face. "I am almost positive that wasn't your first thought."

He grinned, thinking, _well she asked, sort of_. "No, but I was hardly going to say you look fuckable."

Her cheeks flushed, and she scowled at him as she bent to grab her things from the cupboard. "That's surprising. I distinctly remember you saying I was too cold for anyone to want to fuck me. Something about getting their dicks frozen off."

He winced internally. "Did I say that?" He had—he remembered the look on her face afterwards quite clearly. He'd gone too far that day, although he'd excused it at the time. She'd been harping on him about his grades, unknowingly mimicking perfectly the lecture that he'd received from the old man; then she'd dared to say the words "you should be more like Squall" in that lovesick voice she'd never realized she'd used and he'd quite simply lost it.

"Not that it matters," she said now, "but yes."

He shook his head. "I must have been struck stupid by your charms." Her eyes narrowed as she puzzled over his comment, obviously trying to decide if he was being serious and which instance he was referring to. He wasn't quite sure he wanted her to figure that out yet, so he deflected, "Either way, I'm sorry."

"Wow," she said, crossing her arms. "An apology and a… compliment, all in a matter of minutes. Who are you and what have you done with Seifer?"

"Haha," he said, "very funny. I've been known to apologize, on occasion."

"Yeah," she agreed, suspicion clear in her tone, "and hell has frozen over."

He shook his head. She wasn't going to believe that he'd changed until she saw it for herself. Until he'd proved it. Hell, he barely believed how he had changed. Edea's magic had healed hurts he hadn't even realized were eating him alive. It hadn't fixed his insecurities, or given him a complete personality overhaul—as would have benefitted him the night before when he'd fallen hard into his old patterns—but it had allowed him some perspective. At least he now knew why he had those patterns to fall into.

"Well, Seifer or not, I hope you are ready cause we're catching the first train out of here," she said as she turned for the door.

He nodded taking her place and gathering his own already packed bag. "Sure, down to business."

He grabbed Hyperion from where it leaned against the shack's wall and followed her out into the warm summer morning. Her eyes never left him, and when he realized that she was staring warily at his gunblade he stopped in his tracks. The thought of being separated from the only thing he'd ever held onto killed him, so it was a shock to find himself wanting to hand the gunblade over to her. To prove to her that against all odds he was worth her trust. The thought scared him as he knew it for truth the moment the thought crossed his mind. He wanted her to trust him again. Wanted her to look at him as more than just the fuck-up she'd called him.

Still he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. He stared at the hand holding the blade, willing it to move and yet couldn't quite let that part of him go.

His eyes met hers and he could see that something had changed. There was surprise there now, and just a touch of that innate understanding that had used to drive him up the wall. The last time she'd given him that look was on the train ride to his destiny. Then, he had panicked, enacting his half-baked plan to distract her because he had known then that if she tried she would have been able to stop him.

Now he just sighed, and giving in to inevitability, raised his hand shakily.

She shook her head, clicking her tongue in irritation. "Just keep it," she muttered tersely, before turning and walking away.

He followed her silently, wondering why she'd been so angry that he was going to give in, while gratitude sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach that she hadn't made him follow through with the gesture. Before Edea had decided to play Hyne, he would have never even contemplated handing over his weapon. Now he was just a fucking sap.

There were few out in the morning light as they reached the first of the worn stone streets, but those who were took an interest in them that Seifer was well acquainted with, but seemed to make Quistis rather nervous and at the edge of the more maintained area of the city, she pulled him aside. "We'll take a detour here," she said, pointing down the market lane.

He grinned cockily, taking the opportunity to dig at her, hoping it would dispel the awkwardness. "I thought you said we weren't taking any detours."

"I lied," she snapped. "Now, take off your jacket and give it to me." She held out her hand.

He wondered why she would want it, it was too big for her by far, and any other reason was just a ridiculous as her wanting to wear it, but she was back to being bossy and he couldn't resist the opening she'd given him. "Stripping me already Quisty? And in the middle of the street too. Pretty kinky."

She growled, even as her cheeks grew rosy. "Just shut up and do it already, before anyone notices you." She glanced around furtively.

He followed her gaze silently; it was obvious she was worried about him being recognized, but the question was, why?

"Am I a fugitive?" he asked quietly as he placed the jacket on her fingers.

She shook her head as she folded the fabric and stuffed it into her bag. "Not technically, the leaders have avoided declaring anyone a fugitive yet, but until the trial is over and you're cleared it'll be best to keep a low profile."

She studied him silently, measuring him meticulously. He fought an unwelcome urge to squirm, and the even more unhelpful need to deflect with a cutting remark until she finally shrugged. "I guess that will have to do until we can find some different clothes." Turning, she went further down the market lane, gesturing for him to follow.

He trailed after her, feeling somewhat naked in his indigo vest, as she peered into each shop window before moving on to the next. She came to an abrupt stop outside the weapons shop and sighed, running a hand through her loose hair. Then as if making up her mind, she turned, and without meeting his eyes, grabbed his wrist and led him inside.

"Get what you'll need to cross the Great Salt Lake," she said under her breath before leaving him standing at the counter, once again confused, and just a little bit peeved that she'd manhandled him.

He shrugged it off as the attendant, an old, heavily shriveled man, approached him.

"What can I do for you, my boy? Need a new weapon, or perhaps an upgrade?"

Seifer scowled, watching Quistis head for the section that held oil out of the corner of his eye. If she wanted him to be ready to go into the pit that was the Salt Lake, post-Cry he'd need more than just a measly upgrade. But that was where he'd start.

"An upgrade," he said, pulling Hyperion from its magi-tech sheath on his belt. As the blade appeared the old man's eyes lit up.

"Oh, she's a beaut'," he said, almost reverently, "Hyperion, standard edition, only two or three of these in existence. They went out of fashion about twenty-five years ago, you know. Got replaced by the revolver model. Easier to used two handed they said. But between you and me, the Hyperion was just harder to master. Only two upgrade levels. If you want the first one, I'll need a Betrayal Sword, two Dino Bones and twelve Screws and it'll be two Star Fragments, an Energy Crystal, ten Pulse Ammo and eight Screws for the last."

Seifer placed the blade on the counter and then dug in his Garden-issue magi-tech bag. Thinking of what he needed, he waited for it to come to his hand before pulling it out piece by piece and placing it on the counter next to his weapon.

"There's what you need for the first," he said finally when everything was retrieved.

"Splendid," the old man said with a smile, "that will be thirteen-hundred and ninety-five Gil, please."

Frowning Seifer pulled dug for his wallet. "So how long will it take to upgrade?"

Before the man could respond, Quistis stormed up, slamming a bottle of oil on the counter next to him.

"Fifteen-hundred forty," the man said, holding out his hand, "and about an hour."

Seifer smiled sheepishly at Quistis and handed over the Gil. She clicked her tongue and stalked out of the store, oil in hand.

"Feisty," the old man said, as he gathered up the items. "But you hold onto her, the best ones are always a little testy. Makes life an adventure."

Seifer laughed, thinking he had no idea, as the man handed him a receipt.

"You bring me back the parts for that next upgrade and I'll have that one done in under an hour too," the man called as Seifer reached the door. "The shop two doors down might have what you need. Adventuring types like to dump their wares at old Maddie's."

"Thanks," Seifer said, as he opened the door, "I'll look into it."

Quistis was leaning casually against the hotel's building next door when he stepped out and he approached her warily.

"I could have paid for that," she hissed under her breath so that he had to strain to hear her words through her anger, "and what were you thinking putting your weapon in for an upgrade? It'll take hours."

Seifer shrugged. "You said to get whatever I needed. I haven't gotten a chance to upgrade recently." Or ever, but she didn't need to know that. "Plus, it won't take that much time, the guy said he could have the first one done in about an hour. The next one will probably take the same if can get him the parts. I almost have all of them. He—"

Her eyes narrowed and she spoke quickly, cutting him off. "Oh, no… No, I am not going monster hunting with you. And furthermore this was not…"

Her voice rose in volume with every word but before she could say more, or start really screaming, her bag started beeping wildly. He watched her look around hastily assessing her options through narrowed eyes. The street was mostly empty but the few people on it were heading their way. She grabbed his wrist again and pulled him back in the direction they'd come from. Feeling like he was being dragged around like an errant child, he grit his teeth as she fished in her bag with one hand and led him into an alley that stunk of rotting food and human waste with the other.

The beeping stopped as Quistis pulled out a com-link and flung open the earpiece. "What?" she snapped into the device.

"Yes," she bit out to whatever the caller said on the other end, then Seifer heard her suck in a breath, "no, I'm sorry. What did you need?"

"Peachy," she said and then flinched.

Seifer wondered if it was because she realized that she sounded like a bitch or if it was something the caller had said, but figured it was the former when her voice suddenly went cheery in the same way it always had when he was trying to goad her in the middle of a lecture.

"I'm fine. I got into Timber last night and found the target. I'm planning to hop the next…" she paused, glared at him, and then turned her back to him. "…the noon train back to Fisherman's Horizon. I expect we'll be back there the day after tomorrow."

It sounded like someone, probably Squall—although he would have never before imagined her snapping at her perfect student—was checking up on her mission.

"What!?" the word was like a shot and Seifer smiled, Squall had said something to piss her off again.

"What do you mean too soon? … Dammit."

Quistis glanced back at him, then stepped as far away as she could, turning her back and whispering into the com. Seifer leaned against the crates and gave her the space she so obviously wanted. It was tempting to eavesdrop, after all he was pretty sure she was talking about him, but he resisted; it would only piss her off further—and as entertaining as she could be when she was pissed, he'd actual be stuck with her for the aftermath this time and that would not be worth it.

Because he hadn't even been looking at her, he was taken by surprise when she shoved the com-link at him.

"Squall wants to say hello," she said cheekily as he gingerly took it.

Staring at it like it was hell-spawn about to take his soul, he finally raised it to his ear.

"Hello."

"Seifer," Squall said on the other end. "It's good to hear from you."

That Seifer wasn't quite sure what to say at that moment was an understatement. Part of him wondered if he'd somehow been mixed up with some other Seifer, one that Squall would have reason to… seem to like. The other part of him was wondering what the fuck had happened to Squall—had Rinoa been doing more than the mere influencing that Quistis had suggested?

Then again, it was hard to tell. It wasn't like he really knew him or anything. Knew of him, certainly. Knew the whiny ass child, absolutely—and unlike the rest of them never had forgotten. Knew how to get under his skin, definitely. But did he actually know him well enough to say how Squall saw him? Not even close. He'd just assumed that the hatred was mutual.

Of course Squall still probably didn't know half of Seifer's reasons for hating him, so that assumption was probably just as stupid as any of the multitudes of mistakes Seifer had made railing against his lot.

"I just want you to listen to what I'm going to say and give yes and no answers. Quistis has been briefed on most of it, but there are parts I'd rather she not know that I told you, understood?"

"Yes," Seifer said tersely. That had sounded more like Squall, straight and to the point.

"First though, I want to ask you personally to return to Garden, not just for the trial, but to come back for good. I could use someone like you in SeeD. There are too many things happening for me or one of mine to oversee everything personally. You would have to pass the test, of course, but that's only a formality. So," Squall continued, "knowing all of that, do you want to return to Garden?"

"Yes," Seifer breathed. If this was the real thing, Seifer thought, Puberty Boy had finally grown up. But in a way Seifer had never dreamed possible. And he didn't hate him.

Seifer hadn't let himself hope, even hearing Quistis' words, but if Squall himself was unbending to ask him personally to return, he wouldn't deny him. Not when going home had been all he'd dreamed about for months on end, even knowing that it would never be possible. It still seemed impossible, but there was a sincerity in Squall's usually stoic voice that convinced Seifer that this was real, that Squall really was going to welcome his rival back into the fold.

"Good. Edea has explained what happened to both of you to a select few, including Quistis, and I won't pretend to know how you felt but I know that you were caught up and dragged along just as much as the rest of us."

Edea…of course. She was still trying to save him. She'd consider it her motherly duty, if nothing else. He hadn't wanted to be saved, had resented what she'd done for him on that beach, but now he would have to thank the interfering busybody like a proper loving son because she'd given him his life back. All of it.

"The world isn't on the same page, though. You haven't been declared a fugitive, but there are many who would like to ensure that you don't see the trial and aren't officially pardoned. They're looking for a scapegoat, and the officials in Galbadia are working around the clock to make sure it isn't going to be them. You will need to be careful, lie low. Quistis knows what to do, follow her lead."

"Understood."

"And Seifer," Squall said, and his voice dipped to just above a whisper. "Be nice to her, she won't say anything but she's been suffering. It probably won't be easy, from her reactions earlier, she's obviously angrier than I or Rinoa thought. I don't know what she's told you, but she protested the assignment officially and wouldn't give me her reasons. I didn't know who else to send that you would actually talk to though, Rinoa is kept under constant surveillance, and while Zell is on board, I didn't think he'd be the best diplomat…I'm rambling. Look, the bottom line is, try to fix whatever you've fucked up with her, and make sure she comes back safe—consider it your first mission."

And there was the awkwardness Seifer had come to expect when Squall did open his mouth—but instead of jabbing at him for it Seifer found himself saying in all seriousness, "I won't let anything happen to her."

Quistis snapped her fingers in front of his face, gesturing for the phone and he handed it over immediately, relieved to have the awkward conversation over with. The Squall he had thought he knew was all but unrecognizable, lingering only in the fact that his voice was still rather monotone, and he sounded like more of an idiot than ever, but it was hard to laugh about it when he went about it so earnestly—when it was so obvious he cared, even if he didn't say it outright.

Quistis snapped, "I can take care of myself," and Seifer grinned.

Squall the earnest idiot; it kind of had a ring to it.

"I've decided where we'll go," she said abruptly into the Comm. "We may be out of Comm. range for a while, but I'll make sure to check in after a week. I'll let you know where we're headed after that."

Seifer's eyes widened slightly, there weren't many places that were outside the range of the newly reconnected Satellite feeds.

Her tone softened as she said, "I will," into the link and then pushed the button to disconnect.

Then she turned the full force of her glare on him. "Don't think I've forgotten about your little stunt. You want to go monster hunting, huh?"

He shrugged, no, he'd wanted to walk down the street to the store, but faced with her annoyance the choice was clear. "Beats hanging around here, it'll certainly be more exciting."

She smiled smugly and he wondered for a moment what exactly it was he was getting himself into.

"Be careful what you wish for. What do you need for the final upgrade anyway?"

"Energy Crystals," he said, remembering the guy's list. He had almost everything else. "I'm not sure where to get them. I actually don't remember what they are."

"Of course you don't," she snapped, her eyes narrowed to slits, "that would have required paying attention in class."

He flinched, not because she'd made a hit, but because he'd bit his tongue in an effort not to retort that her classes were so boring they had regularly put him to sleep. Saying it would be a lie anyway, he told himself, and it wouldn't do anything to help the situation.

She sighed, and her eyes softened perceptibly. "They're exactly what they sound like. Crystals made from energy, specifically Dragon energy."

It wasn't an apology, but then, he hadn't really expected one. Her taking that stick out of her ass long enough so that this trip with her wasn't absolute hell was his only foreseeable goal. If he had to bite his tongue to get her to do it, he would.

"Dragons huh? Are there any around here?"

"No," she said, and then she blinked, her eyes roving to their surroundings, as if she'd just realized that they were still standing in the middle of one of Timber's many alleyways amidst garbage and rot. "I know where to find them, though. But we'll need your weapon back, and in the meantime we need better clothes."

As she led the way out of the alley he debated a response and then throwing all caution to the wind said, "Aw, but I like that outfit… maybe we should have it bronzed. 'The first time prissy Quisty went slumming.'"

The punch she gave him was meant to playful, as evidenced by the fact that it was delivered to his arm rather than his face, but was still forceful enough to have him wincing.

"Ow!" he exclaimed loudly for effect, but she just rolled her eyes and then smiled innocently at him.

"Look, there's a boutique," she said, pointing across the street and three shops down where a smattering of linen, suede, and leather decorated a shop window.

He sighed and followed her down the street into the leather scented interior. The shopkeeper was talking on her phone animatedly and barely looked up when they came in. Quistis turned away from the shopkeeper immediately, and eyed a long tan skirt.

"I thought the point was to disguise ourselves?" Seifer whispered into her ear and held back a smile when she jumped.

She glared at him, but moved on to the next rack. It held men's pants reminiscent of the black heavy-duty cloth that Squall favored and she pulled out a pair, holding it up in front of him.

"Oh no," he growled. "You're not dressing me up like a Squall wannabe."

"What?" she asked, smiling wickedly, "I thought everyone was into the dark cargo pants and fur-trimmed leather look."

It took him half a second but he cracked a smile and shook his head. "Never woulda guessed you had such a sense of humor, Instructor."

Her eyes darkened and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, then she grinned. "My sense of humor is widely known amongst the Garden students."

"Not me," he said, and then winced at how pathetic he had sounded.

She bit her lip, obviously debating on how to respond and then she held up the pants.

"So that's a no go on these then?"

He took her offered out with as much grace as he could muster. "No, thanks."

"How about leather then?" she wondered, moving to another rack. "Although," she continued looking him over, "maybe you'd prefer something more like what you've got now."

He was rather attached to his hand-tailored, high-waist slacks, but he wasn't averse to trying something new. However, shoving himself into skin-tight leather was not in his game plan.

"Jeans." he said definitively, pulling out a pair that was in his size from a nearby rack. 'Relaxed fit, Battle-Grade, Stone-washed, Galbadia Blue' the tag read, and although he didn't know what half of it meant he figured it would be good enough.

Quistis nodded at his choice and then stepped up to a rack of button-down short sleeved shirts. Picking one, she held it up in front of him and the corners of her mouth turned up briefly before she shoved it into his arms and pushed him towards the sign at the back that read 'Changing Rooms.' He watched her turn to the women's section and then shaking his head at her cluelessness, he picked up a moisture wicking white tank to go underneath the synthetic blend top she'd handed him. He thought about shoes for a moment as he passed the long display ranging from heavy combat boots to high-heeled fashion booties that made what Quistis was wearing look sturdy, but shook his head. Combat grade shoes were expensive, way outside his current cash on hand with everything else—his steel-tipped combat shoes would have to do.

In the changing room, he grimaced at the shirt. He could guess that she'd picked it because of the color, a cyan blue that almost matched his eyes, but the color was ridiculously flashy for the wilderness and it would be damn impractical to be buttoned up to the nines when he was sure to be fighting. And he should have told her so. Instead, he'd gone fucking sentimental, all because her eyes had lit up unconsciously when she'd held the fucking thing out to him.

He peeled off his old clothes, and then debated half a second over the tag at his throat before unclasping that as well. He should have gotten rid of it years ago—like Hyperion, it had only tied him to a father he hadn't known he'd had, and had been damn sure he didn't need or want. He hadn't been able to throw it away though, not with his father's hopeful eyes staring into him and the memories of the good times burning in his brain. Later, angry at his own sentimentality and pissed at the 'father' who still denied him, he'd taken the tag and shortened the leash, making it into the true dog collar it was. He'd been satisfied that it had made his 'father's' eyes lose their sentimental shine.

Now he regretted the action, but as with most of the things he'd done was pretty sure it would be a case of 'too little too late.' He threw the choker into his bag with a frustrated sigh and then turned to peel the new clothes off their hangers. With the tank underneath, the shirt wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as he had thought it would be. The fabric moved with him well enough, felt lightweight and surprisingly was exactly his size. The jeans were also better than he'd imagined; although they rode much lower than his usual attire and the fabric was tight across his waist, he was still able to move freely.

He looked completely different, he decided as he looked into the mirror. Relaxed, casual almost. Like he was just some moneyed jock going out for a weekend at the beach. The scar slashing diagonally across the bridge of his nose ruined the image a little, but if they didn't look at his face too closely he doubted anyone would recognize him.

He came out of the stall with the tags to his new outfit in hand and noticing that Quistis was tied up with the shopkeeper who was adding another shirt to the shoulder-high pile Quistis was carrying, decided to let them be.

Eavesdropping on their conversation he stepped up to a rack of leather jackets just as Quistis told the woman how much she was looking forward to a weekend alone with her boyfriend. His fingers slipped from the hangers he was thumbing through, but he schooled his face into a look of nonchalance. It was a cover, he knew, but he couldn't help but wonder why she'd chosen it when she could have chosen anything from the dozens of pre-made scenarios to explain a male-female SeeD team. It just made no sense. She was obviously harboring enough anger that half the time she could barely remember to be civil, so why in Hyne's name would she choose the one cover that would force them to act intimate?

He couldn't come up with an answer that satisfied him so he pushed the question aside and turned his attention back to the jackets. Choosing one at random—a dark brown bomber style jacket—he peeled it off its hanger and slung it on over his shoulders. He moved experimentally, making sure it wouldn't restrict him in a fight. It moved well, but felt decidedly odd—it was lighter and much shorter than what he was used to, but it would serve.

"Now go try that stuff on, honey," the shopkeeper said, shoving Quistis in his direction.

He grinned at her ruffled, slightly dazed look, and she frowned at him. Then she smiled emptily in the shopkeeper's direction and continued towards the changing rooms.

As she passed him her smile dropped and she whispered, "Keep smiling bucko and I'll sic her on you next."

He chuckled, but she had already disappeared behind the wooden slatted door. The shopkeeper returned to her counter and Seifer plucked the tag from his jacket and then followed.

"I'd like to purchase these," he said, handing her the tags, "but don't bother totaling it out yet, I'll pay for whatever she decides on as well."

His pocketbook would probably take a hit, but he'd never bothered spending what money he'd made unless it was to gamble, and he'd generally just made more with that.

"Oh, that's so sweet!" the woman exclaimed. "What I wouldn't give for a handsome young man who knew how to treat a lady. She should hold onto you with both hands."

He grinned at her. "I'm sure she will," he said noncommittally.

He heard the changing room door open behind him as he turned, his eyes were instantly drawn to the curves prominently displayed under skin-tight leather pants and a tight sky blue shirt. The front dipped into a low v that revealed a darker blue tank underneath. She'd kept the black glasses and the heeled boots, which boosted her height another couple of inches and made her legs look like they went on forever. He wolf-whistled as she approached and her eyes shot daggers at him while her face lit up in a pleased smile.

"I've already got my things. You got the tags for those?" he asked when she joined him at the counter.

She nodded showing him her handful of tags and he plucked them from her fingers.

She went to snatch them back but he stopped her whispering into her ear, "Uh-uh, it'd be remiss of any _boyfriend_ not to pay for his lady's purchases."

She frowned slightly but didn't argue as he paid the beaming shopkeeper. Back out on the street though, she turned to him.

"I'll pay you back later."

He shook his head. "Not necessary," he stated with a smile.

She bit her lip examining his face but then sighed and placed her hand at the crook of his elbow, waving to the shopkeeper through the glass, before guiding him along the street to another lane which he knew would eventually circle back around to the beginning of the market.

"It's about time to pick up your weapon," she stated casually as they strolled, and he nodded, trying to come off just as nonchalant even though her fingers felt like brands on his arm. "And then we should probably find something to eat."

"Only food around here this time of day is at the pub," Seifer said. "The restaurants don't start serving till noon. Cutbacks and such."

Cutbacks that were growing more and more severe by the week. Timber had been handed its independence after the war, supposedly as a good-faith gesture of the 'new' Galbadia, but actually had more to do with a lack of funds than a change of heart. That it made them look good after their undeniable bid for world domination was only a nice little side note. Timber, however, was not doing so well under its own power. After twenty years of Galbadian rule, Galbadian backed industry—that had all but stripped Timber of its once thriving forest—and Galbadian funds funneled through Galbadian soldiers, the city and truly all of Timber was struggling to reclaim the stable economy that had once been a draw so large that the city had needed four separate railroad stations to keep up with it and work their industry at the same time.

"The pub serves a good breakfast, though, and better lunch," he told her.

"It doesn't seem like their freedom won them much does it," she muttered, as they hit the corner and turned into what once had been a thriving boarding district, but now was little more than a ghost town. Plywood sheets covered most of the windows, and gates with chains barred the majority of the once well-used doorways.

"Being poor is better than being chained." The people of Timber knew that. Anything was better than being forced to serve.

She looked at him and the pity there made him want to hit something, but then she her hand tightened slightly on his and arm, and he realized that it wasn't quite pity, it was that strange understanding. He wondered, half-resentfully, how anything in her perfect life would allow her to understand, but didn't dare ask—not with that stone of gratitude weighing down his middle.

They walked like that, in silence, around the block and back to the market. The weapon shop was empty when they walked in, but at the jangling of the bells above the door the old man stepped out from behind a curtained doorway and smiled at them.

"Eager are we? But she's finished," he said, pulling Hyperion from under the counter. "It's a shame to leave something this beautiful lying about. Do you have a case for it?"

Seifer shook his head. He'd left the case behind when he'd escaped the detention center over a year prior, sitting in the bedroom of the student dorm he'd shared with Raijin. Hyne knew where it was now, although he could guess—it would be too sentimental to toss.

Still he had to say something, so he used Quistis' cover story to tell a half-truth, "It's at home, we're heading out on a camping trip and the case would just get in the way."

"Ah," the man said, "good, good, the gunblade is a hard weapon to master, but nothing beats it on the field. She took the upgrades well, like she was thirsty for them. It may take some time to get used to her again."

Seifer was beginning to lose his patience. The man was obviously barmy about weapons, but the way he stroked it as he talked made Seifer's hair stand on end. He reached for the blade intending to say something like 'touch it again and I'll slice your fingers off' but Quistis swatted his hand away and stepped in front of him before he had the chance.

"Were there any other charges?"

The man's eyes turned to her, measuring her from head to toe, and Seifer had to clench his hand to keep from pulling her into to him.

This protective streak, he thought acidly, was going to ruin him. His defenses had been all but annihilated, and if he couldn't relearn his control, sooner or later Quistis was going to catch on. Whether or not she came to the correct conclusion—that he'd been harboring feelings for her since the orphanage—she would know enough to make life utter hell for him if she chose. A distinct possibility if she hated him as much as she seemed to when her anger overrode her sense.

"No," the man said finally, before looking to Seifer over her head. "The payment is complete, here, your weapon." He picked up the blade and offered it to him.

Seifer stepped out from behind Quistis and took it, slinging it over his shoulder. The weight was a little different he realized immediately, the gun-hilt was slightly heavier and the blade was just a fraction thinner. It evened out, and probably weighed exactly the same as it had before, but the distribution would take some getting used to. He nodded once to the old man and turned to leave, grabbing Quistis' elbow on the way out.

"Take care of the things most precious to you," the man called after him, and Seifer couldn't decide if he meant the gunblade or the woman trailing after him, then decided it didn't matter.

The man was just a creepy old coot who didn't know what he was talking about.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This past term kicked my ass, so as much as I wanted to update this faster, I ended up just getting this done as spring break comes to a close. There is hope though for faster updates for sure this time as this is my final college term and the least amount of credits I've taken since I started. Thank you to all those who read and especially to those who reviewed (h34rt1lly, I'm very grateful.) Without further ado…

Chapter Three

Take a breath  
Hold it in  
Start a fight  
You won't win  
Had enough  
Let's begin  
Nevermind  
I don't care

-What Lies Beneath, Breaking Benjamin

Eager to put as much distance between them and the weapon shop as possible, Seifer led the way through the winding city streets to where the pub sat in an almost hidden courtyard at the edge of the city. Quistis stopped shy at the entrance, pulling him back towards the street.

"We should get the tickets first," she suggested.

He shrugged and followed her. "Fine," he half-grumbled, wondering why they couldn't do that after they'd eaten, especially as the station to Balamb was back the way they'd come, past the Maniacs building.

Wishing he'd had the mind to insist on breakfast before they left his shack—he'd had bread and eggs that he'd left behind and was quite adept at making a fire—he glared at her back the entire way to the station.

Quistis chatted up the conductor behind the counter while he hung back, trying not to look as annoyed as he felt. The conductor gave her an indulgent smile as pulled two tickets from his roll and took the Gil she handed him.

"You two have nice trip," he said, loudly as she walked away from the counter.

"We leave at 11:30," Quistis said quietly as they left the station. "I bought civilian passes but I have the code for the SeeD compartment so we'll be able to avoid any other travelers."

"Great. Can we go eat now?" Seifer asked as his stomach gurgled painfully. He hadn't eaten dinner the night before—hadn't thought about it really. He was so used to living his days out one at a time. It was amazing what six months in the bare bones of "luxury camping" could do for a man.

Now, coming back to the life he'd been born into, he was already missing the lazy draw and easy rules of endless time—eating when one is hungry chief among them.

"Sure," she said, "We have about forty minutes."

He led the way across the tracks that went to Galbadia and back down the streets to the stairs leading to the pub's courtyard. It was empty, which was pretty standard for the hour, anyone not already inside would be off doing whatever they were paid to do.

As they stepped into the large room that smelled heavily of cheap beer and cigarettes Seifer took in the layout. He'd been there before with Raijin and Fuijin, not two months before, but he was pretty sure the massive screen covering the far wall had gotten bigger, and the table set up had changed, replacing the old heavy wooden relics with several smaller round tables that were set up so that every seat could face the new screen. They'd taken out the barrels and extra shelving along the wall to add more seating but had left the Triple Triad playing area in the back. The long, old fashioned bar top was also the same, he noted, as were the faded black leather padded barstools but all of them were empty. What few patrons were visiting at this early hour were gathered at the tables in front of the screen watching the recently commissioned Gaea News.

The people of Timber breathed gossip like it was air so even though he'd avoided the town as much as possible he knew that the Gaea News ran twice daily at eleven and eleven and that they were based right there in Timber, running out of the now fully functional TV Station. It had been all people could talk about when it had been announced a month after the war had ended, and now, although it was old news, the people of Timber still liked to sit and watch their own up on the screen when they got a chance. The nighttime showing was more popular, but there were a good half-a-dozen people there now watching the very popular Cathy Pear smile from what he recognized as the road leading to where Balamb Garden's home had been.

He scooted closer to hear as the view switched to a birds-eye shot of Balamb Town.

" _The re-building started in Balamb today. The memorial held for those lost during the Balamb Missile Crisis ended with a lovely speech by Balamb Garden's Headmaster, and now Garden Inc. CEO, Cid Kramer."_

The Headmaster appeared on the screen and Seifer set eyes on him for the first time since the night of the SeeD Graduation Ball. He looked old, he thought, and although he was smiling brightly for the camera, the twinkle that had always been so damn irritating was missing from his eyes, and in its place were deep lines of fatigue.

" _A ground-breaking ceremony commenced after the occasion marking the start of the effort to rebuild the structures lost when the Garden took flight,"_ Cathy said, off-camera, then Cid spoke.

" _The plans have been in the works for quite some time, but it wasn't until recently that Garden had the means to carry them out."_

The shot switched back to the woman, " _It couldn't have come soon enough for the citizens of Balamb. Those displaced and affected by the latest Sorceress War—or the Ultimecia Wars as they have come to be known by many—have been grateful for the jobs created by this project. The mayor of the City of Balamb has been quoted saying that, "Balamb is whole-heartedly welcoming Garden Inc.'s continued presence in their country.""_

" _That's good to hear, Cathy,"_ the male anchor, said off camera, _"but what of the trials? The citizens of Gaea would like to know how Headmaster Kramer plans to defend the actions of the Sorceress Edea and her renegade knight—and former student of Garden—Seifer Almasy."_

" _I asked the Headmaster how he felt about the upcoming World Summit but he politely declined to comment, back to you Dan."_

Seifer turned, meeting Quistis' eyes from where she stood frozen a few feet away, but she didn't look surprised at the news just wary of his reaction. He crossed to her, opened his mouth, but she shook her head, almost imperceptibly, and he knew what she meant. Now wasn't the time to discuss it. Not many were paying attention to the newcomers, but the room was both quiet and cavernous which meant that any conversation would be broadcast for all to hear.

Quistis tensed, looking at something over his shoulder before grabbing his arm. "Maybe we should just go to the station," she whispered edging him toward the door.

"I'm hungry," he said, putting the brakes on. There would probably be food on the train, but if there was it would be nothing like what was served in the Pub. She dropped her arm, running an agitated hand through her hair and he frowned at her trying to catch her eye, but hers were planted firmly on an old man, a local who practically lived at the bar.

"I see ya found 'im," the man said tipsily making his way over to them, a wide sloshed smile on his wrinkled face.

Seifer raised an eyebrow but Quistis was still ignoring him in favor of the man who lifted a hand to pat Quistis' shoulder, or what should have been her shoulder, but ended up being the top of her breast.

Seifer's eyes narrowed dangerously as he fought a knee-jerk reaction that would have him both removing the man's hand forcibly—possibly from his body entirely—and shoving Quistis behind him.

Rationality barely won out over instinct, helped by the man removing his hand as he continued on, obliviously, "I'm so happy fer ya."

It was none of his business anyway, he told himself, Quistis could handle one drunken lout. Yet he still had to clench his hands to keep from grabbing her as Quistis let his arm go when the man took a step forward and stumbled into her.

Quistis, of course, either was oblivious or was doing a perfect job of appearing that way; placing a steadying hand on the man's elbow, she smiled up at him. "Oh, yes, I'm so thankful you knew where he was. You must have a mind like a steel-trap."

Seifer grit his teeth as she led the drunk back to the bar, trailing dutifully and angrily behind them.

"Oh, tis nothin', I'm just happy ta help such a pretty young thing as yerself," the man said, waving his free arm wildly. "Twas such a shame ta see a beautiful woman so low." He glanced at Seifer who glared stoically, both trying not to look too much like he wanted to tear the man to pieces and to not think about what was quickly becoming clear.

"How'd he take the news, honey?" the old man asked, pointing exaggeratedly at Quistis' belly.

Seifer's hands jerked, the only outward sign of his surprise; so it was true then. This was how she had found him—that outfit… Quistis whispered something into the man's ear as she sat him down on one of the faded stools, but the man didn't release her, instead pulling her down with him so that she was half-sprawled on his lap and his hand was able to creep to her ass.

That was it.

Seifer had had it.

His hand reached out of its own volition removing the offending appendage from Quistis' backside and twisting it to just before the breaking point before dropping it while his other hand roughly grabbed for Quistis and jerked her up and into his side.

Murderously glaring into the old man's obviously sober and now serious eyes, he felt Quistis shiver beside him but he ignored it.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks again, Pete," she managed in a shaky voice. "I haven't had the time to explain yet but I'm sure everything will be fine."

"Anytime, honey," the old man said with a wicked smile at Seifer, "come see me if that young buck there don't do right by ya."

Seifer growled, but Quistis smiled emptily, and in one move tore herself from Seifer's arm and all but fled the pub. Seifer watched her retreating back for a full ten seconds before he decided going after her would be smarter than teaching the scam artist a lesson. With one last glare at the still grinning man, Seifer went after her, keeping his distance as she sprinted up the stairs and down the street. He watched her come to a stop in an alleyway between two buildings across from Timber Maniacs before she whipped around crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

Trying to calm himself— _fuck, what was she thinking_ —he gave her a few seconds to get herself together. Two large gray metal dumpsters lined one of the beige cement walls while the other boasted a pile of crates that towered above his head as he finally followed her in. Behind her a rusted gate guarded a small courtyard of sorts that dead-ended into the back of one building and contained entrances to the buildings on either side.

He was pissed and had all sorts of half-answered questions going through his head but knowing she was already on the defensive, he strolled casually to her, working to keep his tone mild as he stopped in front of her and asked, "So, who was that?"

She sighed, running a trembling hand through her hair and seeing her so shaken pissed him off even more. He wanted to go back and rip the guy's hands off and feed them to him.

"That was Pete," she said finally, pacing past him toward the alley's entrance then turning to face him, "he's a local that has eyes and ears everywhere. He's a lush, harmless really."

"He's a con artist." Seifer growled wondering how for someone so smart she could be so fucking stupid. "He was stone sober," he bit out finally, proud of himself when the tone was even.

She grimaced. "His hands did seem to land just a bit too conveniently."

"I noticed…" he said dryly. "So, Pete the Con what? Told you where to find me out of the goodness of his scheming heart?"

She frowned and his worst fears were becoming reality quicker than his frayed temper could handle. "Don't tell me that outfit was for him."

She shrugged. "Okay, I won't."

"What the fuck was Squall thinking?"

She shrugged again and he had to fight to keep from growling. "I already told you, we thought you'd moved on. I was only supposed to get information on where you might have headed, and Ol' Pete is the best source of information in town, made better because I wouldn't have to bribe or pay him outright."

Fuck. "No, you just what? Had to give him a show, and… Hyne" Fuck, he didn't want to know but now the question was eating at him. Just how far…

"Pretty much," she agreed mildly, "the show was free, which was better than the last time SeeD dealt with him. He charged ten thousand Gil for some shady information that only ended up being half right. This is supposed to be off the books and I don't have that kind of coin. Luckily, Ol' Pete is exactly how Squall described him, a sleaze with a romantic streak. He bought the sob story, hook, line, and sinker, and gave me everything I asked for without even thinking of asking for payment."

Seifer scowled. A show. Squall should fucking know better. She should fucking know better. He wasn't worth it. And here she was lecturing him like it didn't fucking matter. He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "Fine, you got what you wanted, and he got to cop a couple feels, what's the harm in that. I just never expected you to give them so freely."

He knew he'd said something monumentally stupid the moment the words left his mouth. All of his blood seemed to drop to his feet. She looked like he'd slapped her and then her whole face twisted into a snarl.

"That's funny coming from you. I seem to recall someone else looking for a free show just last night and we both know how that went over," she whispered with a voice that would chill the dead. She took a step towards him, her finger pointing in his face. "I did what I was told to do to get the job done, then and in your little hideaway. I'm a SeeD, that's what we do. We follow orders and complete our mission whether our personal views conflict with it or not. That's something you could never understand, it's why you never could pass muster. And that is why, even with Squall's delusions of being one big fucking happy gang of orphans again, you'll never be one of us."

It was his turn to flinch, and the retort was out of his mouth before he could think, "If I'd have to sell myself like that I don't think I'd want to!"

"It's better than giving yourself over to a madwoman for free!" she hissed in blind fury, backing him further into the alley. "And what do you have to show for it? You're a washed up loser that half the world wants dead. A paragon of lofty ideals and twisted fantasies, bathing your hands in the blood of the innocent to make all of your delusions into a fucked up reality. You're a sad pathetic shell, a puppet with cut strings. Don't kid yourself. You sold more than any mercenary ever would and you've got nothing to show for it."

Her words ripped open wounds he hadn't been sure were there, but as the sting overwhelmed him he closed his eyes, and shoved it and the twisted relief he felt back under. His first instinct was to let the anger run free, to retaliate, hitting harder and cutting deeper, but the thought of tearing her down like that made his gut clench in a way it never had before, which just frustrated him more. In the end he decided that the truth was all that mattered, and she could do with it what she willed.

"You seem to think that I don't know that. That I don't know what a fuck-up I am. That I haven't heard this all before, how I'm worth nothing, how I'll never amount to anything. How I'm a lapdog, a puppet, a plaything. I get that," he spat, waving his hand and trying desperately to sever the emotion flowing so closely to the words. "Hell, I can even own up to it. I was played more finely than a concert violin…and you're right I got nothing out of it besides hazy memories and a face everyone hates. So go ahead, tell me how it looks from that pedestal up there."

She shuddered visibly but said nothing, staring at him with wounded eyes. If it hadn't hurt so much he might have been glad for her words, as they, more than anything, had proved that even if Edea had cut of the majority of his emotional memories, she had left him basically intact. He was the same fucked up emotional mess he'd always been. What Edea had done was give him the control to recognize it and deal with it like a normal human being. The sharp edges of his triggers had been worn smooth, allowing for the clarity that he wasn't so much hurt that what she said was true; more that she had said it at all. That Quistis, the only one he could ever count on to stand up for him, to be fair to him, had finally given up on him. It was devastating in a way he couldn't have expected.

What was worse was that he could almost hear her apology, what she would have said to him if she still believed in him, but she remained silent, taking in one shaky breath after another. He knew he mirrored her, could feel his own chest heaving under the strain. He didn't know how to fix what was broken between them but he knew one thing for certain, he needed to find that pocket of self-loathing again and stick to it. It was how he should actually feel after all. If Edea hadn't fucked his life over so badly, he was sure he would have drowned in it.

His attention was drawn back to her as she shifted, quickly stepping toward him, her arm outstretched "I'm—"

A spray of blood hit his face, cutting off her words abruptly seconds before fire erupted along his side. The strong bite of pain was secondary to the rush of adrenaline that had him grabbing her and smashing them both against one of the large dumpsters just as a second shot flew into the alleyway. The bullet cracked against a wooden crate sending splinters flying just a few inches from where they'd ended up.

He rolled them behind the dumpster's side, putting it between them and the alley's entrance and then glanced down, praying that she was okay. Her eyes were dilated with shock, and he cursed, running his hands over her blood stained arm looking for the wound. His fingers found it on her shoulder. A tunnel of scorched flesh had been left in the bullet's wake before it hit the bone, and continued in an altered path out of her and toward him. It bled sluggishly, most of the tissue having been cauterized by the heat of bullet.

Probably a Fire Ammo, he thought, judging by the burn of his own wound. If she hadn't moved it would have easily sunk into her head, and if it hadn't passed through, the damage would have been much more severe.

"11 o'clock, on the roof," she muttered lifting her pain dilated eyes to his, "Timber Maniacs; it would have had to be. Plenty of room to adjust if he doesn't give up."

Silently Seifer agreed as he glanced over the black lid, the other buildings were too short and too exposed to make the shot. A bullet sunk into the lid a foot from his face and he swore, diving back down.

"He's still there," he informed her.

She shifted, pulling away from him and he had to force his arms to relax and let her go. In the rush of adrenaline, he'd all but forgotten their argument but she clearly wanted to be as far from him as she could. He ignored the sting of rejection as she crept to the dumpster's edge and studied their surroundings.

"There's too much time," she mumbled, "and not enough."

"For what?" he asked, reaching around to the side of his chest to where his flesh still burned. He hissed as his fingers hit the wound just below his armpit, and then she was there shaking her head as she slapped his hand away.

"The train," she said, as she lifted his arm and examined the wound through the tear in his shirt. The way she was treating him should have had him grinding his teeth in frustration. Instead he found himself fighting off a smile. It was just so like her. And no matter how pathetic it sounded—burning or not, he would have taken the bullet just to see that she still cared.

Oblivious, she rambled on. "It's probably eleven now, even if we can get out of the alley without being shot there's still half an hour before the train leaves." Her fingers grazed the edges of the wound but this time he was ready for the bite of pain and she didn't pause, "In a city the size of Timber we won't be able to lose the sniper for long… if at all. Cure," she whispered as she finished, and he felt the magic take hold. His skin _stretched_ , and then knit back together, leaving no trace of the wound. Seconds later the battle-grade cloth knitted itself back together as well covering his skin once more, but he barely noticed it through the rush.

He had almost forgotten how odd magic felt. Like drinking coffee up to the point of jitteriness but never crossing that line.

"I'd return the favor," he whispered, gesturing to her shoulder, "but I haven't had spells stocked for a while." He still had the standard junction system, the one the rest of the world used that didn't rely on the power of the guardian, but he wasn't even wearing it. Hadn't bothered to restock it after his spells had run out. Living so close to town, and with his gunblade, he hadn't seen the point.

"Here," she muttered, reaching under the collar of her shirt and pulling out her junction interface from somewhere in her cleavage. "Let me see your junction… You still have one, don't you?"

"Yeah," he said, swallowing, and trying not to think of exactly where she kept that little device.

He reached into his bag and pulled it out, then handed it to her. She had the spells transferred and his interface back to him in under a minute.

"Don't bother healing me yet. I might be able to use it."

Idiot, he thought as he stuck the chip onto the skin just below his collar bone, but he bit his tongue to keep from saying it aloud. It wasn't his call if she chose to bleed, she could handle it. After all, it was something even the wannabe SeeDs were trained to do. Using pain or blood loss to break one's magical limit separated potential SeeDs from the rest of the fodder.

"Can you see the sniper?" she asked craning her neck over his shoulder to peek at the building kitty-corner from them.

He rose slightly to glance over the dumpster and just about fell on his ass as a bullet pinged off the metal an inch to his right.

"Still there," he announced, leaning heavily against the wall. And a damn good shot, too, Seifer thought, not quite perfect, but better than most.

Quistis nodded absently, looking around her with a studied air. Then she looked up at him. "Pull on the dumpster will you?"

He tossed her a quizzical look but did as she asked, and after a moment's struggle, it moved…slightly. Still, she smiled brightly at him.

"See that door over there?" she asked pointing to the half-hidden entry across the way.

He nodded. "Let me guess. We'll use the dumpster to get to the door."

"Sort of, we're going to use the dumpster to make him think we went for the door, then I'm going to start a fire and we're going through that gate."

He looked to the door and then to the gate. "We'd better get pulling."

It took what seemed like hours to pull the dumpster far enough that it blocked the alley entirely, and every so often, the scraping of metal over concrete was punctuated by the ring of a bullet hitting their shield. The citizens were probably scrambling trying to find shelter from the gunman, but he knew no one would come to their rescue. The local police force was all but defunct after the Galbadian's quick withdrawal. It had been one of the reasons he'd chosen Timber to hide out in; less chance of the local authorities getting wind of a fugitive in their midst when there were none to speak of.

When they stopped Quistis turned to him, her eyes glowing with the power of her limit. "Mighty Guard," she called, and the magic rose around them, wrapping them both in a barrage of Protect, Shell, Haste, and Aura.

It was an impressive spell, one he hadn't seen her use before but he was more concerned with the way her eyes were dilated and how her chest was heaving with the effort it took for her to breathe. She waved off his offered arm, crouching awkwardly as she left the safety of their shelter. He followed her quickly and when they were almost to the door, she turned.

"Firaga."

The spell exploded in front of them, igniting the trail of slime that led from the dumpster to the wall where it had been, creating a line of towering flame.

"Go, go, go," she said hurriedly heading for the gate.

Seifer pulled out Hyperion and used its hilt to bash the lock and then pulled off the rusty chain, and pried it open. On the other side lay a dead end and two more doors, one on street level and the other down a flight of concrete stairs.

"Pick one," she urged, closing the gate behind her.

Seifer nodded, going down. "Isn't this the hotel's building?"

She shrugged. "I don't remember."

"Wow, something the instructor doesn't know. I'll have to put this one in the books," he chided absent-mindedly as he used Hyperion on the rusty padlock guarding the metal door.

She didn't respond but he could almost feel her glare on the back of his neck and he grinned glad that she was back to her usual self.

The padlock gave, falling to the paved steps with an audible crack and Seifer picked it up as Quistis pushed her way past him and jiggled the door's knob. It twisted easily under her hand and as she opened the door. A dark hole stared out at them.

"After you," Quistis said shakily.

Seifer consoled himself that whatever was in the basement was probably better than what was behind them as he stepped across the threshold and into darkness. Shapes formed in the black as his eyes adjusted, and he began to make out piles of distinct items before Quistis slipped in behind him and cut off the light from behind.

Whatever building it was, it didn't seem to belong to the Hotel, or if it did, this part of it hadn't been used in ages. Dust blanketed everything he touched, coming up in plumes.. He sneezed and Quistis swore as she bumped into a pile of stuff trying to get around him.

"Don't just stand there," she murmured, stepping over a pile of boxes and what seemed to be old, dusty, covered furniture, trying to find the way through.

"There should be some stairs around here somewhere," Seifer commented lightly.

"Standard Timber architecture would put them in that corner," Quistis informed him, pointing to the northwest before blazing a path carefully in that direction.

"And know-it-all Quistis strikes again," he muttered as he followed her.

"I heard that," she growled.

The stairs were indeed in the corner and he chuckled, following her as she vaulted up them two at a time. They reached the ground floor in moments and emerged into an abandoned glass-fronted shop. Covered and dusty displays mixed with rows and rows of old rusting shelves running the length of the room. The old store seemed relatively safe with plenty of places to hide, but if the sniper was quick or smart that advantage wouldn't last longer than a few more minutes.

Seifer really hoped Quistis had a plan.

"We're here. Now what?" he asked.

"We need to get to the train station, but we're too close. If we go now, they could follow us on the train" she muttered, "but how…Oh! Look," she said, pulling on his sleeve.

He followed her pointed finger and noticed what she had. Across the street was a railing and beyond it, beneath it was the tracks that ran parallel to those of Timber's main station, and in front of that railing a short, but large man paced back and forth along the same three feet of cobblestones. He looked to be talking to someone while scanning what seemed to be their direction. Then a second man stepped up to the first from the right, this one tall and toned, wearing a red bandana over his dark hair with a shotgun strapped over his shoulders.

"Shit," Quistis breathed, "They're already three steps ahead of us. It's a Hyne dammed _team_."

The man with the gun turned his tanned face towards them and although Seifer knew he wouldn't be able to see them at that distance through the dingy glass of the shop's front, it felt like he was looking right at them.

"I don't recognize them or their maneuvers, could be freelance," Quistis said shakily, and Seifer could see her swallowing hard as the man's dark eyes moved away. "We have to get out of here."

Seifer grunted his ascent. "Somehow I don't think the front door is a good idea. And I'm not going back into that deathtrap down there, so what's the plan?"

Quistis shook her head, and Seifer decided he really didn't like the glazed look her eyes had taken on.

"Come on Quisty, standard Timber architecture," he reminded her, more trying to snap her out of it than actually needing her to lead. "Where are the exits?"

She didn't answer, staring down blindly at something on the floor. A pool of crimson. His eyes shot up to her shoulder.

Fuck. He'd forgotten all about it and obviously so had she. "Dammit, why haven't you healed that yet?"

"Forgot," she uttered, as her eyes met his.

He pulled on his junction. "Cure," he said irritably.

They were both acting like a couple of cadets out on their first field mission, and if she was right, if this was a freelance team, cadets wouldn't get far. The sniper would have already moved—if the team was good they would know that Quistis had bought train tickets and send the sniper to cover the station while the other two flushed them out.

She groaned rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry," she stated. "I'm a little off my game."

"Well, I hope you get back on it soon, because those guys look like they're getting impatient." He pointed to where the taller man stood looking between the two buildings closely as the stocky one said something to him. The taller one nodded, and raised a radio to his lips.

"Yeah, let's go. Second floor or maybe the third. Standard architecture has fire escapes on the east and west fronts of every building, put in after the Great Fire during Galbadia's first invasion. We can hop from building to building back to the pub courtyard, try to lose them before running back along the streets towards the station."

"Great, and good timing, because here he comes." The shorter man was headed for the building beside theirs while the lean one headed straight for them.

"Go, go," she said, crouching to stay hidden as she hurried for the open stairs.

They crouched until they were past the ceiling, out of line of sight, and then ran up the second flight. They heard the breaking of glass just as they crossed the landing to the eastern hallway window. Quistis cast Silence over them both before easing the rusted window open. It squeaked slightly as it gave and Seifer cursed loudly, knowing no sound would make it past the magic clouding him.

The sound of their boots hitting the metal platform was muffled to a quiet ping and Seifer gently slid the window shut as Quistis judged the distance between their balcony and the next. Motioning at Seifer, she mimed orders for him to give her a boost onto the railing.

He sighed inaudibly and cupped his hands for her to step into. Stepping from his hands to the rail, she leapt gracefully over the gap and onto the platform. He boosted himself shakily onto the rail and made the jump, landing on the platform beside her. She pointed up and then grabbed on to the ladder that was attached to the side of the building. He followed her closely as they climbed, doing his best not to stare at her rather shapely ass as it moved in all its leathered glory. He'd always liked the peach outfit that she wore for battle, but this new one was growing on him.

Lost in that thought he almost ran right over her as she stopped abruptly at the building's roofline. He could feel her sigh before she pulled herself the rest of the way onto the roof. He followed, seeing what she had seen; there was a billboard advertising Moomba Juice which sat directly to their left, blocking line of sight to where the sniper had last been stationed. Seifer pulled two Echo Screens from his bag and swallowed one of the vials of foul brew. His stomach immediately revolted, and it was all he could do to keep what little was in there in place as he handed her the other shiny green bottle.

Downing it, she cleared her throat quietly. "As soon as we step past that tile we'll be in direct line of sight if the sniper didn't move, and possibly even if he did," she whispered, "but if we head for that spot there—" she pointed to the buildings old, rusted air conditioning unit "—we can figure out where to go next."

He nodded. "We run for it on three then. Ready?" he asked, bracing himself for the run. At her nod he counted, "On the count of three. One, two… three!"

They burst from the shadows together, sprinting toward safety. Seconds later a shot rang out. Quistis had pulled ahead so he could see that she hadn't been hit as she put on a burst of speed and Seifer followed. Another shot sounded, this time from a different gun, and the bullet landed, spitting up asphalt less than a foot in front of him. He threw himself to the side, glancing in the direction the shot had come from. The lean man was on the roof of the building they'd left, and the barrel of his shotgun was tracking Seifer's movements steadily. Seifer cursed, then kept going, weaving after Quistis toward the unit at the end of the roof.

By the time Quistis dove into the shallow alcove between the machine and the edge, Seifer was five steps behind. The shotgun blasted behind him as he careened into the corner, biting into the metal inches from his shaking head, and spraying rusted shrapnel into his back.

Quistis grabbed him roughly, pulling him behind the edge of the unit and smashing herself between him and the metal wall.

"Are you hit?" she asked worriedly, looking him over, and reaching out to touch his head.

Torn between calculations of where the bullet had come from, the stinging pain of his back, and distracting thoughts of the rather intimate position they'd ended up in, he dodged her seeking hand and shook his head.

He put a few more inches between their bodies and gestured to what was now his right. "The tan one is on the roof of that building behind us and he's got some kind of shotgun and the sniper is still in play across that street. That was his shot that reflected off the corner there. Why are these guys after us anyway?"

Another bullet sunk into the metal right next to his head and she jumped, then shifted to wrap her arms around him again and pull him in closer, further behind the shield. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as her arms pushed some of the shrapnel bits further into his skin in her effort to keep him close as she ducked her head to peek out from underneath his arm.

"I don't exactly know why they're shooting at us," she said, finally answering his question. "I have an idea, but now is not exactly the time to go into it."

He shifted, trying again to put some distance between them, cursing the fact that he couldn't see anything but metal from where he was smashed up against her and the unit.

"I think I see the original shooter," she whispered, "and he's leaving," she pulled back in, staring up at him. "But we still need to vacate. There's approximately six feet between this roof and the next and about forty feet more to another six to eight-foot gap and then about fifteen to the sign on that roof but even if he stops his angle's wrong now. The tan one is too far away to aim accurately with a shot gun and I don't see the tubby one so we'll get about ten seconds head start if we go now."

He nodded, tensing his body, there was no way he'd make a ten-foot jump cold without a strength junction, but turning he could just see that the other roof also had a ladder and below it a fire-escape. If he aimed for that he was pretty sure he could make it.

"Go," she called, and he went, pushing off the unit and taking two half-running steps before leaping, aiming for the ladder. Catching himself on the forth rung, he dropped down four more to give her room and had an arm ready to catch her as she came flying toward where he'd landed. Her hands caught and she smiled down at him before scrambling up and over onto the roof. He followed her two seconds later and they ran over the asphalt roof, his feet and heart pounding so quickly it became a hum in the background.

A shot sounded, and followed by another but Quistis was next to him and then they were jumping over the next rooftop gap. He rolled as she did on landing, then they were both up and running for the cover of another sign. Another shot missed just as he slid behind it. Quistis panted beside him, but didn't stop, heading for the ladder that would lead down to the street paralleling the pub.

Seifer followed her, but as his feet touched the galvanized metal, he asked, "Where are we going?"

"There's a railroad track," she panted out as they all but flew down the rungs, "between the pub and the building next to it. Place to hide. Maybe"

"Great," he muttered as she jumped the last eight feet to the street below.

He took a second before following her and felt the impact all the way to his teeth. He winced slightly, but nothing seemed broken and she was already heading across the street so he scrambled to follow her. At the railing separating the lower part of Timber from the raised streets, she hesitated slightly and he caught up to her.

"I don't see any of them," she said twisting to look back at him.

"Think they gave up?" he asked, scanning the street and the rooftops they'd come from.

"No," she whispered.

"Better go then," he said, bending to give her a boost over the rail.

Once on it she leapt over to the building's domed roof. He followed not a moment later just barely avoiding the bullet that pinged off the metal rail behind him.

Scrambling to the opposite side of the roof. Seifer saw the tracks she had mentioned, on the other side of an eight-foot stone wall, and also realized that there was a courtyard of sorts that was full of boxes and other junk between the building they were on and the alley. There was a ladder though, he realized as Quistis headed for it, that it would put them near the fence as they went down.

She led the way, sliding down the ladder's rungs until she was slightly above the stone wall and then she jumped for it, landing on its top before dropping down into the alley below. He followed quickly and joined her at the base of the wall separating the alley from the train tracks.

Quistis approached the wall and motioned for Seifer to give her a boost. He followed in resignation, bending at the waist and holding out his locked hands. She stepped onto them bracing herself on his shoulder and then he lifted her as she pushed off, vaulting over the top and disappearing on the other side.

He backed up in line with where a pile of crates stood and then took a running leap, stepping on the topmost crate before pushing off it into the wall. His hands caught on the top and his feet scrambled up, giving him just enough momentum to get over.

"Hug the wall," she called as he touched ground on the other side.

"They'll still probably be able to see us," he told her, but followed her directions anyway until they'd gotten out of sight behind the pub, then again as they went past the building and out to the small attached courtyard.

Quistis pulled out her watch as she reached the opening into the courtyard. Looking at it she frowned and then leaned out of the opening to scan the perimeter.

"I don't see any of them," she said, meeting Seifer's eyes, "but you know that doesn't mean anything, and we've got about ten minutes before the train is due to leave."

"We wait five and then we run for it then," he suggested, "if they're still on the roofs they won't have time to follow us onto the train and if they aren't, they'll be a minute behind us anyway."

She nodded. "If they're up there they'll probably expect us to come out through the front door of the pub, if we stick to the shadows of the bridge we might not attract their attention."

He nodded and they settled in to wait, but after four minutes Seifer heard the tell-tale sounds of someone rushing the wall behind them.

"Shit, run!" he whispered, and she dashed out into the shadow of the building. He followed, hearing whoever it was curse violently as they fell back down. Grinning he picked up speed, catching up to her just as a shot echoed. He couldn't tell where it'd come from or where it'd landed and there was no time to bother looking for the shooter as they ran up the stone steps.

Half-way down the street, the train whistled a five-minute warning in the station. As they ran on past the Maniacs building to the street that paralleled the tracks, he could just make out the tops of the sleek cars and the smoke cloud of the engine behind the other buildings.

Quistis never wavered, running full-bore down the lane and Seifer followed, keeping just steps behind her as two more shots went off. A flower pot burst in a window to his left, and he dodged right as the second bullet landed, spewing grit from the cobblestones where he'd been standing. Glancing behind him he could see that the tubby fellow was on his trail, but obviously wasn't that great at hitting moving targets.

He put on speed, then noticed that Quistis had paused in the street in front of him, crossing her arms to pull up the energy to cast.

"Blizzard" she called out as he reached her. Grabbing her arm, he tugged her with him as he passed, dragging her along for a few seconds before she caught her balance began running.

He glanced back noting that he'd interrupted her aim—the spell had crashed in front of the tubby man, instead of into him. Still, it had distracted him enough that they had gained some more distance and he wasn't able to aim that shiny pistol properly. Quistis tugged her wrist out of his hand, motioning him forward even as she pulled her whip out of her bag. Seifer growled in frustration but didn't stop as she slowed, snapping the whip once and catching the man around the ankles. Torn between watching where he was going and keeping an eye on her, he heard the crash of the man hitting the ground as he rounded the platform labeled 'Galbadia.'

Another shot had his heart stopping until his eyes found her again, running with all her might towards him as the train blasted off its one-minute warning. Counting the seconds, he jogged ahead up the steps.

As the next shot rang out he dove to the right, rolling up to the stairs, before running onto the train. Turning, he hung out of the door of the car, his eyes frantically searching for her. He breathed a sigh of relief as she hit the top of the stairs, sprinting towards him. She'd been hit; a flesh wound trailing red from her side as she flew over the concrete and the train geared up, chugging as it readied to pull out of the station, but that she was there at all was all that mattered. The doors beeped loudly, warning that they would close and he braced himself against them. It took what was left of his strength to jam them open. As the train jolted into movement she rounded on the edge of the ticket station and jumped for where he stood.

Letting go, he caught her and they both tumbled back into the compartment just as the doors slid shut. He felt her take one deep panting breath and then another as she lay on top of him and the train pulled away from the station. He shifted, lifting her so that he could sit up.

"That was too close," he said, his voice shaking with adrenaline.

She nodded, and grimaced as she rose, her hand reaching for her wound. Seifer followed her up, reaching out to steady her, to examine just how bad it was but she knocked his hand away, and jerked her head toward the car behind theirs.

"Check the next car, scan these and input 140049104," she said breathlessly.

Scowling, he followed her orders, scanning their tickets and stalking through the passage the open door revealed. Opening the door at the other end, he stepped out into another loading compartment, and then beyond it through the small door that opened at the end of the car.

After checking the last two cars in the train and finding them unoccupied, he returned to the SeeD car, and found Quistis slumped onto the long padded seat that covered the far wall. She looked up as he came in, but seeing it was him, slumped down again.

"No one there," he told her, quickly looking her over.

She'd taken care of her injury, leaving nothing but the blood to indicate it'd been there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"We made it," she said looking up at him.

He smiled grimly. They had, just.


End file.
